Required reading, "Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail 72," and other musings.

The text messages always go, “Hi, it’s Blank from X State, and I’m running for Congress. I need your support.”

Instead of responding to the lab grown politician with the right blend of populism and just enough AIPAC to not rock the boat that the DNC has deemed worthy of the spotlight—with the customary “STOP,” I usually up the ante and respond with a “Get fucked.” or “Go FUCK YOURSELF!” My hope is that somewhere, some campaign intern—surely closer to a sociopath than a servant of young America—is forced to acknowledge my response and log it in some spreadsheet column labeled “Strongly Negative.”

One of my biggest regrets is giving my email address and phone number to the Bernie Sanders campaign during the spring of 2016. I have gone so far as considering getting a new phone number to avoid this near constant flow of political campaign texts that follows me around like an unpaid bridge tole. I, like so many of my generation, was caught up in the collective optimism of the idea that we could get money out of politics and address some of the economic problems that had been—and continue to—plague America. The slew of $20 contributions I’d fire off as the Democratic primary took shape is one thing; those were short-term pains, soon forgotten. However, the long-term injustice of receiving a constant barrage of fundraising texts, emails, and calls from the very people the original Bernie campaign was diametrically opposed to is insult added to injury, and a constant reminder of a pivotal turning point in contemporary American politics.

Much has been written about the 2016 Democratic primary and the subsequent loss to Trump in November, and I imagine much more will be written—especially if the brain trust at the DNC continues its streak of genius decisions: sabotaging the Bernie campaign and nominating Hillary Clinton, allowing Biden to maintain his delusions about a 2024 run until the spring of 2024, forgoing a competitive primary and rolling out Harris, and, presumably, crowning Gavin Newsom the heir to the DNC’s political machine—and therefore setting itself up to lose the 2028 election.

I’ve long maintained that politics is just professional sports for the “intellectually superior,” and I generally try not to get too wrapped up in it. During the playoffs or during a particularly dire political moment, I get caught up in the fervor and convince myself my team can go the distance and win the big game.

Every few years, I’ll reread the musings of sports junkie turned political commentator Hunter S. Thompson, specifically his 1973 classic, Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail ‘72. To this day, it remains one of the sharpest and most endearing insights into American politics, the “democratic” process, and the clash between populism and corporate America that has defined our elections for the last century. Now, more than fifty years after its release, it often lives in the shadow of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Las Vegas is more hedonistic and accessible to the Joe Rogan phenotype, dead set on absolving their sins with psychedelics before returning to business as usual. On the Campaign Trail, on the other hand, requires a bit more investment and a willingness to trust that Thompson’s insights and critiques of the 1972 campaign could be just as true today as they were more than fifty years ago. That realization is both disheartening and comforting. It dispels the fallacies of political progress that so many Americans cling to, while also reassuring us that things were fucked before, and life went on.